‘Hey, Erin, I’m sorry,’ he apologises, ‘is this a bad time?’
I didn’t realise it had registered on my face, though I’m not disappointed to see him as such – I’m just busy.
‘I was wondering if you fancied a drink?’ He waggles the bottle of wine he’s holding. ‘Or maybe just some company?’ He smiles a little awkwardly. He has a nice smile, I suppose, shy and a touch self-effacing, but I mustn’t get sucked in by all of that nonsense. After all, I know from bitter experience that the devil always comes to you with a smile.
‘Don’t worry,’ he says, as though sensing my apprehension, ‘I’m not a psycho killer or anything…’
I pause for a second before taking a step back from the door. Maybe Icoulduse the company. It’s not much fun getting drunk on your own after all.
‘That’s good to know, Malcolm.’ I let him in. ‘But what if I told you thatI was?’ He has no idea just how close to the truth I am as he walks through into my small apartment.
‘Why are you dressed as a dog?’
I feel my face flush red as I suddenly remember that I’m wearing a furry onesie, complete with a hood and ears and a tail. I picked it up at the local market last weekend because it looked warm and cosy.
‘I’ve not intentionally dressed as a dog.’ I pull at the cheap fabric, embarrassed. ‘I was just trying to save on heating costs.’
‘Woof-woof!’ He raises a brow in tandem with the wine bottle. ‘Shall we unscrew this bad boy then, or what?’
I laugh. I’ve forgotten how good it feels. Actually, I think I might fancy Malcolm a little bit myself. But then again, I haven’t had sex for the best part of a decade. I’ve forgotten how that feels too.
We make small talk for a while. I’m good at small talk. It’s a skill I acquired through necessity at Larksmere. Chit-chat was the language most inmates and staff understood. It was safer that way. You really didn’t want to get inside the head of some of the ‘people’ I was locked up with – and you definitely didn’t want them in yours.
Malcolm tells me he’s a local landscape gardener, but that it’s largely seasonal work, which is probably the reason he’s drinking the same cheap wine that I am. We drink and chit-chat some more. He asks if he can play some music and downloads an old jazzy house soundtrack that I’ve never heard of. I quite like it.
I’m a little drunk by the time we have sex on the sofa some hours later. It’s clumsy and awkward at first, and it doesn’t lastvery long, but admittedly, it feels wonderful to have a strong, warm body holding me. It reminds me that I’m still human – or just about. Now it’s over though, the darkness returns and I want him to leave so that I can continue with my research.
‘What’s behind the wall-hanging?’
He nods over at it.Shit.The right-hand corner is flapping down – it must’ve come loose when I’d quickly pinned it back up.
I leap up so quickly from the sofa that I spill the last of my wine onto his naked lap.
He yelps in surprise.
‘Oh, God! Malcolm! I’m sorry… that was an accident… I…’
I grab a cloth from the small kitchenette, begin dabbing his crotch with it. He watches me closely.
‘So you going to tell me then?’
‘Tell you what?’
‘What the newspaper cuttings are that you’re hiding behind that piece of fabric?’
‘I’m not hiding anything,’ I say, casually. ‘And it’s nothing that will interest you, I’m sure.’
‘Shouldn’t I be the judge of that?’
I get up off the sofa, throw the cloth back into the sink and pour myself the last of the wine. This is just one of the myriad reasons I don’t want anyone in my life; people ask questions,too manyquestions.
‘If you must know, I’m looking for someone.’
‘Aren’t we all?’ He raises his eyebrows.
‘It’s a female actually.’ I stifle a smile in return, let my head drop to one side.
‘She missing or something?’
